


Heart of a Hound

by SoftRegard



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aranea saves the day, Background Relationships, Character Study, F/F, Falling In Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftRegard/pseuds/SoftRegard
Summary: Where things went a little differently, and Lunafreya is saved.Alternatively: Aranea makes her own Verse 2.





	Heart of a Hound

_Aranea had been born with a shock of grey hair the colour of a wolf pelt. The way she’d been told, her mother had been flabbergasted and had run disbelieving hands through her own ash brown locks as though she couldn’t believe it had come from her; dad had been blond in the way of most Niffs, so where could it have possibly come from?_

_“Spirit of the wolf in this one...” he’d said, kissing both their heads._

_“We don’t get wolves in Lucis,” mom had murmured, carding reverant fingers through the newborn’s downy hair._

_“You’re in Niflheim, beautiful,” grinned dad. “Lots of wolves here”_

*

Once she’s handed the assignment - one placed suspiciously _outside_ of Altissia - she smells the stink immediately.

The op is the biggest they’ve been given since the takeover of Insomnia, and she’s being sent on some routine inspection over in _Tenebrae_ ? Aranea hadn’t gotten this far by doubting her instincts, not in the military and not in _life_ , and now they’re telling her that something is well and truly rotten.

She takes the order with a nod and makes her way back to her rooms, face belying nothing.  

It feels like a long time coming but she thinks it may finally be time to say goodbye to Niflheim for good.  

*

_Altissia, Accordo Protectorate_

_Two Weeks Later..._

 

Aranea sees his arm move and knows he’s going for that little knife he has tucked away in his coat. But she’s still too far away, so she does the only thing she can think to do - grabbing her lance and launches it full force onto that little vista and watches with a breath of relief as it plants itself between the two of them, the princess falling back and the chancellor stopping in surprise, arm frozen where it hovers for the knife.

“Move back,” she barks as she jumps the gap and lands on the stone. She makes her way over in quick strides, eyes locked onto Izunia’s tall, creepy form. “Move _back_ , chancellor.”

“Well, if it isn’t our lovely commodore! What a _pleasant_ surprise,” he purrs, drawing out the syllables of his words unnecessarily like the attention-seeking showboater he is, and splaying his hands like he’s done nothing wrong. The knife is nowhere in sight. “Shouldn’t you be on assignment in Tenebrae?”

“Tenebrae’s right here,” she juts her chin in the direction of the girl, who is watching her in shock and curiosity. Her face is pale and tinged blue at the lips. “I should be asking you what you’re doing - pulling a weapon on a prisoner of war.”

That steady smile twitches a little, sharpening itself like claws. She’s always known something was just a little off about him, a little wrong, and it looks like whatever it is that lives under his skin is just itching to peel itself free. She hopes she can grab the princess before that happens.

“But I guess that’d be a waste of my time and yours,” she says, bracing herself in front of the girl and pulling her weapon from the rock, muscles tense and ready to move if need be. She’s never seen him fight - isn’t even sure if he knows how - but her instincts are screaming at her to be on high alert and she’s always trusted her instincts before she trusted anything else.   

“My dear, I have nothing but time,” he murmurs, with a quirk of his brow beneath the messy fringe of his hair, like he’s sharing a secret. Or a joke. It’s beyond her what he could possibly mean, and personally she doesn’t give a fuck. Eccentric old men are always so tiring in their self-satisfaction.  

Aranea hears strained grunting and sees the prince squirming where he lies a few paces ahead, watching them but probably in too much pain to do anything but feebly reach out with a trembling arm.  

“Hey princess,” she calls behind her, though her eyes are still trained on Izunia’s irritatingly calm face. “Your man’s looking a little pale - finish that rite, won’t you? Chancellor Asshole here will keep till you’re done.”

The princess stands on shaking legs and nods, before darting ahead to the prince - giving Izunia a wide berth. Luckily he doesn’t seem interested in giving her any more of his attention. Instead, he’s watching Aranea with an expression somewhere between amused and condescendingly fascinated, like he’s observing a bug doing something out of the ordinary and is curious to see where it might lead.  

“I don’t imagine your superiors are going to be too happy with this sudden and inexplicable independent thinking,” quips Izunia, crossing his arms and cocking his hip. The complete lack of worry from him makes her tighten her grip on her lance.

“Guess it’s a good thing they’re not my superiors anymore,” she says, eyes flicking over to watch the glow coming from behind his back, where whatever spell the girl is casting seems to sink into Noctis’ body like it’s supposed to be there in the first place. “And neither are you.”

Izunia tilts his head to the side, looking over behind him at the struggling lovers for only a moment. Then, he laughs, like he’s come to some sort of decision. It’s throaty and dark, making the skin at the back of her neck tingle sharply.

He dips into a jaunty little bow and walks forward, “What a fascinating little display, commodore - truly, a delightful confluence of _unexpected_ events.”

She braces herself, but he only swerves around her and struts to his ship. For a moment she considers planting the tip of her land right into his back, but opts not to. There’s a niggling little feeling in the pit of her stomach that tells her to play it cool with this one.

The sound of his heavy footfalls on the ramp bangs like thunderclaps against the roar of the water. It should seem trivial against the very real threat of Leviathan’s anger, but that same feeling whispers that the man in front of her should worry her far more.

Izunia throws his parting words over his shoulder, unbothered and carefree, “It would seem you’ve elected to intervene in matters beyond your station,” he laughs again. “Well, that comes with a price, you see - I look forward to our next meeting, commodore. Farewell.”

The ramp draws up and closes on the sight of his broad back, the billowing of his wine-red hair. Only when it shuts all the way does she allow herself to unclench her fingers and relax her spine, watching as the ship lifts into the air and flies away.

Aranea turns back to the peak of the crumbling vista, where the world’s future king and queen have finished the rite: in a blinding explosion of light, of magic so potent it feels like the hairs on her arm are burning right off, Noctis launches into the air.

And _stays_ there.

It’s nothing she’s ever seen before - but she’s a pragmatist, so she tears her eyes away with some reluctance. It’s probably one hell of a show, but she’s got work to do.

Still though, as she books it toward the princess she finds herself thinking of her superstitious hometown, deep in the pit of Niflheim, and grins at the thought of her old neighbors and schoolteachers quaking in their boots at the sight of such unrestrained, heretical _magic_.   

“Come on, highness,” she calls, eyeing the sinking wreckage around them. “We gotta get out of here.”

“But…” gasps the princess, barely holding herself up on trembling arms; all over, the skin is mottled and starting to bruise. “Noctis…”

“He’ll be fine,” she says, knowing that his friends are on their way, and takes her by the elbow to help her up. “But we need to scram before the water swallows us - we’ll meet up with him later. I promise.”

Breathless, Lunafreya nods her head, too spent to argue; when they take a step though, the girl’s knees buckle under her and Aranea has to keep her from planting on her face.

“Forgive me, my legs - I can’t stand..”

“Tch,” Aranea grabs her arm and winds it over her shoulders. “Looks like it’s princess time.”

“Wha-?”

She hefts the girl up and carries her bridal style, getting a small gasp of surprise in return. The oracle has a little bit of height on her, but she’s light as a feather. Settling her in her arms, Aranea hauls ass back to her ship, avoiding flying debris and the angry crush of the waves.

*

_“You’re a softer touch than you think, love,” he’d said, watching her through sleepy eyes. The sun made something dewy and radiant of him, something out of a dream. She adored, so much, the way his dark hair fanned out underneath his head - beautiful and inviting the touch of her fingers._

_“Shut up,” she’d grunted in response, though she’d smiled and shoved her pillow in his face. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”_

*

When she has Lunafreya settled on a bench - passed out and pale, but otherwise in one piece - Aranea finds a secluded corner of her ship and pulls out the little Lucian burner phone that no one knows she has.

Save one person.

After two rings, a familiar voice picks up, “Hello?”

“Hey Four Eyes,” she says, watching the Oracle’s gentle breathing under the blanket. “Still alive I see.”

“Commodore!” she can just about _see_ him fussing with his glasses in his shock. “Are you quite all right?”

“Peachy,” she quips. “You boys?”

“None the worse for wear.”

“Good to hear,” she leans against the steel wall, feeling the rumble of the engine against her arm. “To business: I’ve got a certain princess in my custody.”

“Lady Lunafr-!”

“Listen - we’ll be approaching Niff airspace soon and I don’t have much time until my call will be picked up, so I’m gonna keep this short,” she cuts in. “I’m taking her to one of my safe houses; location classified. By now, if the Chancellor has blabbed, they’ll all know I’ve defected.”

She gets the feeling Izunia won’t say a thing, but doesn’t mention it. They all have more pressing issues to worry about than whatever the hell is up with _him_.

“I...see.” There’s a pause as the man collects his thoughts. “His Majesty is currently unconscious - it remains to be seen when he’ll wake…”

She can hear the fine thread of worry in his voice, but knows better than to use up their dwindling time on empty platitudes. They’ll pull through, anyhow. She feels it in her gut - the young king has got all the forces of the universe on his side. There’s no way his journey is going to end here and now.

“Let him rest. I’ll get in touch with you in one week - keep your lines open for me, will you?”

“Affirmative.”

“Good,” she says again, then grins. “Then let’s get these lovebirds reunited - oh, and Four Eyes?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Tell his Royal Majesty that he better be naming his first kid after me, will you?”

An amused snort on the other end: “I shall pass the message along.”

“Be seeing you.”

*

Lunafreya wakes up with a weak flutter of her eyelashes, and a turn of her head that looks like an enormous effort. Aranea has the morbid thought that the girl’s neck might snap if she strains herself too much.

“Welcome back, highness,” she says from her spot on the other side of the ship. The disassembled parts of her lance litter the seat and ground all around her. It’s routine to clean and check her weapon after every mission - and considering the unknowable battles ahead, she thinks she’s going to need her equipment to be in top shape more than ever.

The oracle gingerly sits up, bracing herself on her arms - which Aranea notices are still faintly racked with tremors, and the blue of her veins is stark on the insides of her elbows and wrists. She glances around the ship, dazed, before settling her gaze back on her rescuer.

“Where are we?”

“My ship,” Aranea sets down the part she was scrubbing and levels the girl with a firm, but gentle, look. “I pulled you out of Altissia after the rite.”

“I remember…” the princess murmurs, blinking. She runs a hand through her hair, loose and fluttering around her shoulders. Aranea’s only ever seen her in photos before, and the sight of her without her usual up-do seems strange and altogether too vulnerable for her liking. “...Thank you. I owe you an enormous debt.”

“Don’t mention it. Want some water?” she asks. “We don’t have a lot of supplies on the ship, sorry. We’ll get you set up with some food and meds when we land.”

Another blink, “Where are we going?”

“My safehouse,” she responds. “Everything’s a mess right now, and the empire is probably blowing up half of Lucis looking for you and the king.”

At the mention of him, Lunafreya’s drooping head perks up. “Is Noctis all right?” she asks, doing a pretty damn good job at keeping the desperation from her voice. The urgent look in her eyes, though, gives her away.

“Loverboy is recovering,” she says, nodding. “He and the rest of the boys can’t do much while that happens. And _you_ need a place to hole up while you get some of your colour back.”

Aranea gestures at her own cheeks, and the the princess lifts a slightly trembling hand to her face. She looks about a step or two away from death, if Aranea were being generous. She doesn’t know much about the business of magic or talking with gods, but if this is the price then she thinks it just doesn’t seem worth it.

“The plan is to reconvene a week from now,” she continues. “And we’ll go from there. In the meantime, we’re headed to my safehouse at the outskirts of Gralea - right in the middle of Niflheim where they won’t think to look for you. Don’t worry, we’ll get you two reunited in no time.”

She gets a surprised look at that.

“You’ve a safehouse prepared in your own country?” asks Lunafreya, incredulous. Though she wears it with more grace than anyone else; what might be a gaping mouth on anyone else manifests on her as a slight widening of the eyes and gentle part of the lips. “Whatever for?”

“A girl’s got to have an exit strategy, highness,” she says, with a wry smile.

“Do you not trust your own people?”

“I trust no one,” she shrugs. She doesn’t expect her to get it. “Except myself, and then maybe Biggs and Wedge.”

Lunafreya goes quiet for a moment, as though sorting through what she wants to say - so reserved, so trained. Aranea wonders what the girl is like when she takes that filter off.

“That seems a harsh way to live, commodore,” she says, finally.

“Call me Aranea - I’ve pretty much defected, y’know,” she peels her gloves off and chucks them onto the bench. “And it’s the _only_ way to live, far as I’m concerned. Be prepared for whatever life throws at you, and you’ll survive anything. All that matters sometimes is making it to the other side.”

*

They’re about a couple hours away from their destination when Lunafreya asks, “What made you decide to leave Niflheim?”

Aranea pauses and looks up from her newspaper, “Big question.”

Lunafreya clasps her hands patiently on her lap from her seat on the bench, “It’s a big decision.”

She takes a breath, deciding how she should start. Truthfully, she couldn’t pinpoint her decision to any singular source, but more like a buildup of a thousand little things here and there as the years rolled along. She’d told the young king and his boys that it’d been the daemons that’d been the final straw - but she’s not really sure it was. Her departure had always felt inevitable - in the way that her leaving Foraminis was, that leaving merc work was.

Maybe that’s just her path, always forward to the next thing and never looking back.

She doesn’t say as much. Instead, she shrugs her shoulders and mutters, “It was just time.”

The princess looks disappointed, but lets the subject drop. She’s quiet for the remainder of the trip.

**Author's Note:**

> i saw a fan render somewhere with Aranea's carrying Luna bridal style while surrounded by MTs and that's it - that's the inspiration for this fic.


End file.
